


Keep Your Aching Celebrating Wondermaking Heart Alive

by Tezy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smelly band boys, Touring, Weird people doing cute things, bands on tour, can't stop won't stop, everyone is tired and angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tezy/pseuds/Tezy
Summary: “You need to sleep,” Frank said softly.“I know,” Gerard mumbled into the pillow. His voice was scratchy and low. He took hold of Frank's hands where they were laid on his stomach and gripped them tightly, as if he was trying to anchor himself to the world through Frank.A few moments later, his eyes slipped closed, and his grip on Frank's hand relaxed, but Frank left his hands where they were.(In which Frank is pining, Gerard is exhausted, everybody is exhausted and tours are exhausting.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote part of this when I was in my thesis class. Who said I'm not a responsible adult?
> 
> "I'm on your side,  
> If you fail, at least you tried  
> To keep your aching, celebrating,  
> Wondermaking heart alive."  
> Blue October - Inner Glow
> 
> (I am bad at timelines so who knows when this is meant to happen. Make your own choices. It's like a choose your own adventure only not at all!)

The life of a touring rock band was hard. Most people Frank knew would anaesthetise themselves into compliance or pound themselves into exhaustion, throwing themselves around the stage like ragdolls. He was one of the second kind.

Gerard was different, Frank knew it. He was too intelligent and too tuned in to ever tune out, even when they'd played five shows in a row and they were thrumming in their own skins with a heady mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline. In the early days, Gerard would drink himself to sleep but his mind would be brimming over, fighting against it.

It was worse now, when the hardest drink he touched was diet coke. He struggled to fall asleep easily. He barely spent any time in his bunk. Instead, he spend long nights curled up on the sofa, with his sketchbook.

Often, Frank would join him, because he never slept well when they were travelling.

They had an unspoken agreement where they'd curl up with each other, silently, doing their own thing but keeping eachother company. 

Sometimes, Frank would practice songs, sometimes he'd play unwritten tunes. All on an acoustic guitar, all quiet enough not to disturb the others. Sometimes, when he played, Gerard would sing random words and phrases that didn't mean anything to anyone but him.

Those nights were his favourite.

**

Frank sometimes found himself thinking back to the early days, when he'd been a fat stoner and maybe a little too overeager to join his favourite band. Somehow, they'd fit together like it was meant to be. It felt like fate. If his old band hadn't broken up, he wouldn't be where he was today, playing in front of thousands and thousands of people who looked up to them like they had all the answers.

Sometimes he wondered if there was an alternative universe out there where it hadn't happened. He couldn't really fathom the idea of not being part of My Chemical Romance. They were a team. It was them against the world. His brothers-in-arms.

Even though he was pretty sure he was a little bit twisted because when he looked at Gerard, it didn't feel like brotherly affection which made his stomach cramp up.

**

This tour was shorter than the previous ones, but it was no less exhausting and no less frustrating being cooped up with each-other on the bus all day between shows. 

A week in, and Frank was exhausted and snappy. He woke up early feeling like a clockwork toy somebody had wound up too far. They had a long drive ahead, but he couldn't force himself to go back to sleep.

By the time the bus pulled into the venue that night, Frank was pacing up and down, trying to work some of the nervous energy out.

He was the first off the bus, heedless of the fact it was freezing out and it was almost dark and he was only wearing a t-shirt. He took deep breaths of the sharp, crisp air as he looped around the parking lot. He wanted to shred his guitar and he wanted to punch something. Maybe at the same time.

That night on stage, he threw himself violently into every song. He fell heavily to his knees during the chorus of Helena and knew he'd have bruises tomorrow. It felt good. 

During the last song, he came up behind Gerard, draping himself flat against his back. When Gerard leant back into him, he bit his neck, hard enough to leave a mark, and Gerard shivered but didn't pull away.

The answering screams from the crowds almost deafened him and he wished he didn't have to wait until they were on stage and use being provocative as an excuse.

**

After the show, Frank found Gerard sat alone in the dressing room, smoking a cigarette and staring vacantly ahead. He didn't say anything when Frank stopped in the doorway, even though he was straight in Gerard's line of sight. 

He had a towel wrapped around his shoulders, and his hair was dark and damp with sweat. Frank wanted to push it out of his eyes.

He walked over, and Gerard finally looked up when he was stood in front of him. Without saying anything, he dropped his cigarette in an ashtray to the side, and reached out. When Frank stepped closer, he wrapped his arms around Frank's waist and pressed his head into Frank's ribs.

Frank slid his arms around him in turn and squeezed him as hard as he could. Gerard was softer, but his arms were firm. They fit together well.

He traced his fingers over the small purple mark he'd left on Gerard's neck. It was barely there, but it stood out against the pale skin. Gerard sighed and turned and pressed his nose into Frank's wrist.

They stayed that way for probably too long, until Brian found them and told them to get on the bus.

**

They had a day off the next day, and Frank decided he would do nothing but sleep and relax, because he knew when he overdid it, his body fought back with illness after illness.

(He hated being sick, even though they would look after him. Bob would grumble but he'd also do anything Frank asked, because he was the best person ever. Ray, ever the maternal one, would make sure he always took his medicine, and he'd come up with new concoctions of vitamins and essential oils to try constantly. Frank didn't have the heart to tell him his body was just plain broken. Mikey would bring him new comic books to read, and he'd even keep him updated on the latest tour gossip, because Mikey knew everyone and everything. 

Gerard was strange about it, though. He'd often crawl into Frank's bunk with him and they'd lie tangled around each other until Frank got too warm and had to squirm away. They'd barely talk though. Sometimes Gerard would show him new lyrics he'd been working on. Other times he'd just stroke Frank's hair and make soothing noises.)

He'd woken up with a sore throat that morning, which just confirmed that a day lazing around was the best option. He quickly resigned himself to a day playing video games and pretending to be working on the melody he'd had stuck in his head. 

He was six rounds into Guitar Hero when Gerard emerged, looking rumpled and sleepy, from the bunk area. It was 3pm, but Frank said nothing.

Gerard threw himself down next to him on the battered sofa, stretching his legs out so they took up the whole aisle. 

Without looking away from the game, Frank put his right foot on top of Gerard's left foot. Gerard answered by putting his right foot on top of Frank's left foot. When Frank glanced over in-between songs, Gerard was smiling into his lap. It was strangely cute. His heart ached slightly.

**

When Frank had met Ray and Mikey and Gerard the first time, they'd been so young. So naive and baby-faced and ready to take on the world. Bob hadn't been in the band then, but in Frank's memories, he was always there. It felt right that way.

He remembered his first experience talking to Gerard. He'd been soft-spoken, nervy and intense, with bright eyes which fixed on Frank's face and made him squirm as he spoke about wanting to save lives with an intensity which allowed no questions about how. 

His favourite question, Frank learned quickly, was “Why?”. Mostly, it was when somebody would say something he disagreed with – about girls in bands, perhaps, or the state of the music scene. He'd press them into explaining why they said that until they somehow felt like they'd made a bad faux pas and changed their mind. It was strange and kind of impressive.

(Looking back now, Frank realised he stood no chance when faced with someone as genuine and sincere as Gerard fucking Way.)

He remembered the smoky New Jersey dives they'd played their first shows in together. He remembered their first tour, and their first time in a recording studio together when Gerard had an abscessed tooth and had spent most of the time completely wasted as a coping method. At that point, he'd required sleeping pills and half a bottle of vodka to get to sleep.

It had hurt to watch his friend and bandmate self-destruct like that, but not as much as it had hurt when they'd been in the van late one night on tour and Gerard had reached up for something and his shirt rode up enough for Frank to see something he'd never seen before. The pale skin of his hips was slashed and hacked and cross-hatched with cuts, some of them scarlet and new.

Frank hadn't said anything – hadn't known what to say – but the image haunted him for months.

When Gerard hit rock-bottom, they were all there to pick him back up again. That's what brothers did. 

**

The day of their eighth show, Frank woke up early again and hated himself for it. Mikey was curled up in the lounge, already glued to his phone when Frank wandered in. It was barely eight in the morning and he was surprised to see that Gerard was there too, sat at the booth that passed as their kitchen table.

Gerard was counting a packet of M&Ms into separate piles, Frank realised as he slid in opposite. Frank had always thought it was odd and somehow endearing that he separated his M&Ms into colours and then ate them in threes, abandoning the last two oranges or the last brown because there were not three and he could not eat only one or two and would not mix them with another colour.

Today though, Gerard's hands were shaking slightly.

He reached out and touched Gerard's wrist and said, “Have you slept at all?”

Gerard looked up and Frank saw the purple bruises of exhaustion under his eyes and he didn't need an answer then, because he knew that look. It was one Gerard only got in his eyes when he'd had a bad night.

“Come on,” he said, taking hold of Gerard's hand firmly now, and pulling him up with him. A few M&Ms he'd still been holding dropped through his fingers and bounced off the table top.

Frank led him back to the bunk area where he gently pushed him into the lower one he'd claimed as his own. There was barely enough room, but he crawled in too, wrapping himself around Gerard like a human octopus. 

“You need to sleep,” Frank said softly. 

“I know,” Gerard mumbled into the pillow. His voice was scratchy and low. He took hold of Frank's hands where they were laid on his stomach and gripped them tightly, as if he was trying to anchor himself to the world through Frank.

A few moments later, his eyes slipped closed, and his grip on Frank's hand relaxed, but Frank left his hands where they were.

**

That night, the show felt different. Slightly less energetic. They were feeling the demands of touring most quickly these days. Maybe it was because they barely touched anything stronger than coffee to keep themselves going. Even alcohol these days was a rarity for the others – not just Gerard.

When he slipped under Gerard's arm halfway through, he felt Gerard lean heavily sideways on him. It didn't feel like his normal theatrics. Despite Frank's urge to throw himself into the floor and the walls and the others, he forced himself to stay there and let Gerard use him as a support.

As the song ended, he pressed his mouth against Gerard's neck, where he'd scrawled 'TOO LATE' in black Sharpie. He ran his tongue over the letters almost without meaning too.

This time, Gerard pushed him away and skittered over to the other side, where Mikey was playing with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. Frank watched Gerard drape himself around Mikey and tried not to feel jealous because that was just so wrong.

**

They'd always had an extra bunk on all their tours since they'd become “successful” enough that they'd had the luxury of touring on an actual bus, albeit one provided by their record company.

This was because they were a five piece and most buses were made for six, and they were big enough now their crew had separate buses and Brian hated travelling with them so he often drove (Frank couldn't blame him. It was difficult enough being their band mother, anyway.)

If someone who didn't know the band opened the curtains of the spare bunk they'd probably find it a little bit terrifying. All of the walls were covered. Some of it was drawings. Perhaps half were by fans. The others were by Gerard. In-between the drawings were letters they'd been given, either directly or had passed onto them. They were always carefully arranged in a precise layout each tour by Gerard, and whenever there was a new one to put up, he found a new spot for it by moving the others around. Some of them dated back years. Others were only days old. Gerard often scribbled little drawings on the letters when he read them and most of them bore these little personalised marks.

The bunk itself hadn't even escaped unscathed. All the cuddly toys and knitted scarves and little pillows and patchwork quilts they'd been given on that particular tour were piled at the end of it like a comfortable, crazy nest.

As a band, they referred to the bunk as “the confirmation”, which was short for “the confirmation of Gerard's craziness.” This was because he was the one who'd started the tradition – which was perhaps closer to hoarding now – and he was the one that carefully maintained it.

Despite this, it was Frank's favourite place to hide sometimes. He found it weirdly comforting to be able to read the words of people they'd helped or who had found solace in their music when he was having a bad day. It helped him carry on. He wasn't the only one, because sometimes when he crawled into the bunk the covers would be rumpled and the mattress still warm where somebody had laid. 

After the show that night, he climbed into the spare bunk instead of his own, and he fell asleep reading the familiar words of one of the older letters. Gerard had scrawled a family of vampire bats on the bottom on that one. It made him smile.

**

They had two days off in a row, which was a luxury normally unheard of. Frank found himself a little bit at a loss by the end of the first day. He'd slept enough that he felt like his normal self all over again, which was a relief.

The whole bus was peaceful. In the front, Ray and Bob were locked in a battle over who was the best frontman of the Misfits, but they were being exceedingly quiet about it. Their dialogue was a gentle, bitter stream that barely disturbed the quiet.

Mikey and Gerard were nowhere to be seen.

Frank decided that he'd chain-smoke and maybe wander around the venue and see if anyone else was alive.

He stepped into the bitter cold and immediately found himself hunching in on himself as he slipped his battered packet of cigarettes out of his front pocket. He plucked one out, put it to his lips and lit it all in one smooth motion.

The venue was almost deserted. Despite their days off, they hadn't been able to convince Brian that they deserved a hotel room, or been able to fit it in the budget this early in the tour. Instead, the buses had stayed behind at the last venue. Tomorrow, they'd set off for the next city.

As he headed around the side of the building, he noticed it wasn't quite as deserted as he'd first thought.

Gerard was leant against the venue wall, head tilted up, eyes half-closed, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and his shoulders obscured by a billowing cloud of Marlboro smoke. He looked serene, even half-cast in shadows. The weak light that managed to hit him defined the sharper than before planes of his cheekbones, the slight lopsided curve of his mouth, the point of his nose.

Frank didn't want to disturb him, because he looked so peaceful, but before he could turn around and head back, Gerard's eyes opened fully and focused straight on him.

Gerard raised one eyebrow slightly, and Frank shuffled over, feeling a little bit like he'd been caught creeping. 

They smoked in silence for a while but then Gerard tilted his head to the side and said, “Do you ever miss the simplicity of before?”

Frank furrowed his brow. “How do you mean?”

Gerard shook his head, as if he wasn't sure himself. “I guess I just, I was thinking about it the other night. When I couldn't sleep. Lots has changed. Things are more complicated now.”

You're telling me, Frank thought slightly bitterly, and then he felt like an asshole because there was no reason to project his own bitterness on Gerard.

“Yeah,” he sighed instead. 

Gerard flicked the butt of his cigarette to the side and crowded closer to Frank. At first, Frank tensed up slightly, but then he relaxed as Gerard pressed his face into Frank's neck, where the scorpion with seven legs he'd gotten tattooed was. His breath was warm on Frank's skin and Frank tried not to shiver at the hot-cold rush he felt run through him. 

Instead, he brought his free hand up and tangled it in Gerard's hair. It was soft and silky smooth, a far cry from the matted mess it had been for years before. He couldn't say he missed that Gerard.

They stayed like that for a minute, just breathing in the night air, until Gerard shifted slightly and rocked back on heels. He looked at Frank with dark eyes. “You know when you feel like you're balancing on the edge?” he asked. “Like, you could either fall forwards or backwards, and you don't know which one is right?”

Frank's heart sped up a little bit. “I guess,” he muttered despite wanting to agree vehemently.

Gerard closed his eyes. His lashes looked darker than usual against his skin. Frank thought they were a little bit obscene. He wondered if they would flutter if he kissed him.

He wasn't brave enough to find out.

**

They had a rest stop along the way to the next venue which was literally just a gas station and three beat-up trucks to keep their massive buses and trailers company.

Frank remembered when they’d do the same thing in the shitty little van that basically fell apart every night they spent in it, the one that Elena had gifted them for their first tour. When he stepped down off the bus and jumped onto the tarmac and looked back at the silver monstrosity behind him, he couldn’t really believe it. They’d made it – in the sense of the word where people who he didn’t know knew his name, his face, his favourite colour, every little detail about himself he wasn’t even sure was true these days.

There was an ache in his heart sometimes, but then they’d have an amazing show, and they’d do a group hug all sweaty and blissed out and they’d meet people who wouldn’t have been there otherwise, and it’s all worth it in the end.

He headed into the station where there was silence except the sound of an old TV in the corner droning about share prices. He barely glanced around, knowing that half the shit in there would fuck up the careful balance of his stomach if he even dared to eat a few bites. Instead, he grabbed a bag of Fritos and headed to the counter to get some smokes as well.

The guy behind the counter didn’t spare him a glance as he rang it up, despite the fact that outside their buses were attracting curious glances from other patrons. He looked down at the rows of candy stacked neatly at the till point and sighed to himself before scooping up three packets of random M&M flavours and adding them to the total.

He handed over the charge card the record label had given them to put all their road expenses on, and only got a raised eyebrow at the shiny platinum of the card. He hated sometimes – the judgement of it – but last time he’d started paying cash, Brian had almost murdered him – something about taxes and giving him a headache – so he played the game now.

When he got out of the shop, he noticed that Ray and Mikey were stood to the side, talking to one of the techs, and there’s was luggage strewn on the floor.

“What’s going on?” he asked Gerard, who was leaning against the side of the bus and smoking as usual.

“Think they left something back in the last town,” Gerard answered out the corner of his mouth, grinning bright and brilliant at Frank. “I wouldn’t worry.”

“As long as it’s not my guitars, I don’t care.” Frank dug into the bag to find the packets of M&Ms and said, “Hold out your hand,” then dumped them in the cautiously extended hand Gerard offered.

Gerard’s face lit up like a small child at Christmas, which was adorable. He reared forward and pressed a kiss to Frank’s cheek. “Thank you.” Then he settled back on the heels and reached out and petted Frank’s head with the hand that was holding his cigarette. Frank was pretty sure Gerard dropped some ash in his hair, but he didn’t really care that much.

Frank leant back against the bus himself and lit up a cigarette. Somehow, he was pretty sure that they were going to be there for a while. Gerard leaned to the side, pressing his side up against Frank’s, and knocked their elbows together when Frank gave him a look. 

“Will you nap with me later?” Gerard asked quietly when they were halfway through their second cigarette. Frank glanced at his face, noticed the way he was biting his lip and the swollen bags under his eyes, and nodded. 

When they were finally back on the road, Gerard took him by the hand and dragged him into the spare bunk, and they curled up there for the rest of the journey, drifting in and out of consciousness surrounded by letters and drawings.

**

By time they got to the venue, it was almost too late for sound check, and they got a dark look over the top of the sound desk from the in house engineer when they piled onstage. Luckily, everything went right the first time – there was a first time for everything, really – and they managed to start the show on time.

During Give ‘em Hell, Kid, Gerard sank to his knees at the edge of the stage, rocking forward and reaching his free hand out to grip the sweaty palms of the fans nearest the barrier, despite the grumbling of security. 

Frank wasn’t sure how it happened, only he went to crowd up against him and play off the energy of the chorus and maybe jump off the stage, but then Gerard leaned against his legs instead and wrapped his arm through his legs. They were completely tangled together as Gerard sang about looking pretty in the best damn dress he owned.

Frank slid his guitar to the side, and grabbed Gerard and rocked his hips against his head, just to see if he could throw off Gerard’s normal impeccable showmanship (and also because he was a reprobate and a horrible friend, but at least he owned it.)

Instead of standing up and moving away, which was what Frank expected, Gerard turned his head and pressed his open mouth against the denim next to his zipper. Frank could feel the warmth of his breath even through the layer of fabric – this was not the day to go commando because all his underwear was dirty, fuck’s sake. That’s when Frank had to dance backwards almost fast enough he tripped over his own guitar lead before he embarrassed himself in front of thousands of people and their cameras.

Gerard grinned at him wickedly for a moment, and then his attention switched back to the crowd. He stepped up on one of the monitors and when he sang, “But I miss you more than I did yesterday,” he slid his hands down the front of his t-shirt and towards his belt, which raised the loudest screams of the evening.

Frank shifted the position of his guitar to hide the fact that he was stupidly hard and focused on playing with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. At least then he could ignore whatever filthy things their lead singer had decided to do in public because he was a voyeuristic dickhead.

**

The next week passed in a blur of new venues and old cities and familiar faces.

“Hotel night,” Brian said on the fifteenth day as they crowded into the dressing room. A little thrill ran through Frank at the idea of a real bed, with real sheets and a comforter and a hot shower that wasn't the pitiful dribble the bus had.

Gerard was already leaning into the large mirror in the dressing room, eyeliner in hand, but he grinned at Frank behind him. It was a happy grin. He looked brighter and better rested than Frank had seen him in a while. In the last week, Frank had only had to coax him to go to bed (and stay there) once, which was impressive.

Mikey stretched out over the full length of the couch and folded his arms over his eyes. Ray gave him a look, but said nothing as he sat on the floor nearby. Bob was flipping his sticks in one hand, apparently lost in thought. They all looked tired but happy. Even on the worst days, they wore their exhaustion like armour. 

The show that night was electric. Frank felt like his skin was on fire, but in a good way. He couldn't hold still. He pushed himself up against Ray, and got under Mikey's feet, and even managed to get close enough to Bob that he got a spare stick thrown at his head.

During I'm Not Okay, Gerard came up behind him and pressed his sweaty face into Frank's equally sweaty neck and slid a hand down the neck of Frank's t-shirt. His hand was cool against Frank's skin.

Gerard stepped back to sing the chorus, but kept his hand hooked in Frank's shirt, keeping them linked together. 

Frank leant into it.

**

After the show, Gerard wrapped himself up in a big, white fluffy towel and sat in the corner of the dressing room holding a huge bear a fan had given him before the show.

Mikey resumed his position stretched out on the couch, but now he draped a wet flannel inelegantly over his head, and Ray and Bob both lounged on the floor.

They were all slightly buzzing, but they were also quiet from the fatigue of a show played well.

Frank crowded into Gerard's space even though they were both sweaty and smelled pretty terrible. Not that smelling terrible was particularly unfamiliar for either of them. He leant his head against the fluffy white towel, and Gerard tangled his fingers in the damp mess of Frank's hair.

At some point Brian appeared and told them to head back to the buses so they could get to the hotels before midnight. Ray, Mikey and Bob followed him out without hesitation, but Gerard didn't make any move so Frank stayed there.

“I think I'm falling forward,” Gerard said when the room was empty.

Frank shook himself out of his reverie.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked, unsure.

Gerard looked down at him and smiled and said, “I hope so.” He still had his fingers tangled in Frank's hair. 

There was a moment, then, when Frank thought how close Gerard's face was. He could count every lash he had, and see the patch of stubble on the jawline he'd missed when he shaved last, and see the little broken blood vessel under his eye. 

Frank thought if he just lent a few inches closer –

“Guys, hurry up!” snapped Brian from the doorway. He looked cross.

Frank leapt up as if he'd been burned.

**

The hotel that night was nicer than he’d expected, all shining marble and a vast lobby which mostly seemed to house tired-looking businessmen in suits. He felt a little out of place when they crowded in.

Brian broke him out of his reverie when he clapped his hands and said, “Room 604, Mikey, 605, Ray and Bob, 606, Frank, Gerard. Have fun rugrats.”

“How come Mikey gets to be alone?” Ray asked, even though they were pretty much on a rotation of who got the sought after singles.

Mikey was grinning, beanie hat pulled low over his carefully straightened fringe. “I gave Brian a blowjob,” he said.

“Don’t show your dicks to my kid brother,” Gerard mumbled, even though he was mostly staring at his coffee instead of paying attention to his surroundings.

There was a few more minutes of bickering and – rolling his eyes – Frank hooked an arm through Gerard’s and said, “Let’s go sleep, I think I’m gonna die right here and then.”

“Don’t do that,” Gerard said, looking at him with wide eyes as they crowded into the lift with their overnight bags and an older women who was giving them a suspicious look.

Frank slid his hand in Gerard’s back pocket and gave the woman a winning grin. Damn if he wasn’t going to rub some people the wrong way for fun. There was a sharp huff of air and then the woman turned her back on them, shoulders tense.

**

It was late and Frank was so tired that his bones felt like putty and his joints actually creaked but when he stepped into the room and saw the bathroom door open and remembered what it was like to have a hot shower for once, he forgot all of this. He dumped his bag down on the floor, toed off his shoes and then yelled, “Dibs,” even though the likeliness of Gerard beating him to the shower was actually zero.

There was a muffled giggle behind him as he slipped into the bathroom, already tugging his t-shirt over his head and rolling his shoulders in anticipation. The first hit of water against his chest was like heaven in liquid form. He took a deep breath, tipped his face up to the spray, and let it wash away the tension of the last two weeks. 

He probably spent way too long just leaning there and soaking it in, because the next thing he knew, there was a knock on the bathroom door and then Gerard was calling, “If you’re jerking it, make sure you clean up after.”

“Fuck off,” he yelled good-naturedly back and he could hear the honk of laughter in return which sent him into a fit of giggles. 

After he finally felt human again, he stepped out and looked into the fogged up mirror for a second. He could barely make out the dark blur of his hair and the colourful ink which graced pretty much every part of his skin now. It felt weird, to know that the scorpion he’d gotten on his neck was part of a family now, and that every piece had a story linked to it somehow.

He scrubbed a towel through his hair, wrapped one around his waist, then stepped into the hotel room. Gerard was already asleep but he was laid on top of the covers because he was insane, and curled up on one side, wearing a ratty Misfits t-shirt Frank was pretty sure had been his once. He looked peaceful, his eyes shut tight and making little breathy snores.

Frank slipped some worn out sweats on, then crept under the covers next to him, and there was an unhappy noise and then a warm body was pressing up against his side and an arm was thrown over his bare chest. “Hey,” he began, then realised Gerard was still dead to the world, but somehow he’d unconsciously rolled closer. Frank smiled down at him for a minute, then settled into the warmth and shut his eyes.

**

The next day was interview upon interview upon interview, and by midday, Frank was jittery and caffeine-fuelled and a little bit ready to rip his own face off. The girl who was interviewing then was absolutely lovely, but obviously completely new to their music, and when she asked them where they got the name – the third time that day, and an unknown amount of times in their careers – Frank felt himself zoning out.

Gerard, of course, was leading the show as he was so good at. Ray was writing some new song ideas down and pretending to pay attention. Mikey was focused on his phone, probably texting his girlfriend, and Frank felt a little twinge of jealousy for a moment before he felt a sharp elbow in his ribs.

“Hmm?” he tried, focusing back on the interviewer’s attentive face and Gerard’s exasperated look.

“She wants to know about your style compared to Ray’s,” Gerard said, apparently a little bit affronted that he’d not really been paying attention.

Frank raised an eyebrow, then turned back and started giving his normal answer about how they work so well because they’re so different. He almost didn’t notice when Gerard leant his head on his shoulder for a brief moment, but then it was gone and his shoulder felt weirdly cold.

**

“One more night,” Brian explained when their buses dropped them off outside the same hotel, and Frank considered hugging him for a moment before settling for a high five.

That night, there was a small gathering in one of the techs’ rooms, and that’s where Frank and the others found themselves, drinking and chatting with each other and finally feeling relaxed. Gerard excused himself after only a few minutes, saying he was still tired, but Frank knew it was probably that but mostly all the alcohol and the socialising that had driven him away.

For a moment, he wondered if he should follow, then he caught Gerard’s gaze as he left. Gerard shook his head almost imperceptibly, and then Matt, one of the support band’s merch guys, was grabbing his arm and asking Frank to tell him about the new guitar he’d been gifted by their sponsors.

Frank tried not to feel like part of him was missing without Gerard’s talkative ramblings as took the beer offered by Rick, one of their own crew, and settled down to tell them about the beautiful instrument.

**

He lost track of the time thanks to the flowing alcohol and it was past 1am when he realised he really should get to bed. In case Gerard was still up, he sent him a text with a smiley face and ‘Do I need to be quiet’.

Surprisingly, Gerard texted back a few minutes later: ‘No, I’m up.’

He excused himself from the few people left and stood up. He was a little bit tipsy, but he didn’t feel wasted – more just buzzed and happy. It was a nice feeling. When he glanced around the room, he saw Ray stretched out on the couch with Rick, and he gave them a wave as he left.

The room he was sharing with Gerard was all the way down the corridor, and the walk felt way too long. Finally, he stopped outside of 606 and dug his keycard out of the pocket of his jeans and swiped it through the reader.

"Gerard," Frank began to say as he stepped into the dark hotel room. The air was hot and stifling, and it took him a moment to focus.

When he did, his words died on his lips. Gerard was laying on the bed, eyes closed and half-dressed. There was an expansion of inviting pale skin on display, even though he was still wearing sweatpants – sweatpants which he had his hand down.

It made Frank’s heart skip a few necessary beats and he knew he really should just leave and pretend he hadn’t seen anything, or that it wasn’t affecting him like it was.

Still, he didn't look away, even though he knew he should and even though he knew that by hesitating he was potentially ruining his closest friendship. He couldn't make himself.

Gerard's mouth was slightly open, head tipped back. His dark hair was the illusion of a halo against the crisp white of the pillows.

He was frozen entirely despite knowing he should back out, that he should close the door and walk away. But his feet felt rooted to the floor. They weren't listening to his brain, no matter how much he tried.

Arousal slid through Frank, a slow warmth building in intensity until he could no longer ignore it.

Without warning, without a change in his breathing or his expression, Gerard opened his eyes. For a moment, Frank thought he hadn't been noticed but then Gerard's eyes flicked up to meet his. There was no mistaking it. His gaze pinned Frank in place. His mouth curled at the corner, a miniscule expression.

Frank expected him to look angry or at least surprised, but instead his expression was open. His tongue darted out and wet his lips and that was the hottest thing Frank had seen in a while.

He felt a flash of warmth and a tingle run across his skin. The room seemed to spin and melt around him and all at once seemed to disappear. He found himself moving forward as if drawn in by some unnoticed thread. He caught himself at the last moment as his knees bumped the edge of the bed, but the Gerard made a small noise in the back of his throat and surged forward. Gerard's free hand wrapped around his upper arm and pulled him sharply, and Frank had to twist his body to avoid crushing him as he fell onto the mattress.

Even in the half-light of the room, Frank could see the pink of the healing mark on Gerard's pale neck where he'd sunk his teeth in on stage. It was the first time he'd left a mark in their exploits to hype the crowds. A little shiver went through him when he realised he wanted to map a scattered constellation of bruises and bites across Gerard's pale skin.

As if reading his mind, Gerard tilted his head back further, exposing the curve of his shoulder where it met his neck. There was a smattering of freckles there were the sun had managed to touch his skin. The rest of his skin there was soft and unmarked, although Frank knew if he slid his gaze down, he'd see the silvery crossmarks of healed scars on his hips. Frank pressed a small closed-mouth kiss to his collarbone.

He was distracted then when Gerard pushed him back, and then moved his head and slid their mouths together. It felt like comforting, warm and innocent, but only for a moment. Their bodies were awkwardly crushed from the movement - Frank couldn't feel his left arm, and his right leg was trapped under Gerard's, but he didn't care. Then Gerard pressed closer, and the kiss felt demanding and fiery. Frank wondered how it could feel so different from before because it was in the quiet of the room, alone and shielded from the prying eyes of others.

Gerard's fingers slid through his hair and to the base of his neck, where they tugged on the shorter scruff of hair there and Frank titled his head back to look at Gerard, breaking away from the kiss.

"Frank," Gerard said, softly, prolonging each letter as if to savour them. His name had never sounded so wonderful, he decided, even if this was never to happen again. "C'mere." Gerard rolled to the side so Frank ended up pressed up against his back, and Frank was only a little bit disappointed he could no longer kiss him properly, at least until Gerard's free hand clasped Frank's and then, without warning, pulled it down to wrap around his cock.

This was the plot of so many of his shameful late night daydreams. They were especially prolific when they'd played a good show and Frank felt energy buzzing under his skin and he couldn't find any other release except jerking off silently in the exclusion of his bunk. They all did it, and there was an unspoken agreement to ignore the suspicious gasping and hitches in breathing you heard from the other bunks at night. (Although sometimes Frank imagined slipping into Gerard's bunk and curling himself around him and helping out, he could never find the self-destructive courage to do so.)

Normally, in his fantasies, Gerard was overly talkative like in real life, words and noises spilling out like he had forgotten to filter his thoughts. But this was different, there was a stillness in the atmosphere. Frank didn't want to admit it scared him, but he also couldn't convince himself that this wasn't the best thing that had ever happened. Not even Gerard was there and so warm and revealed to him.

He'd only even given one hand job in his life to somebody else. It had at an afterparty of their early tours, with one of the drum techs of another band. They'd started off discussing their dream band line-ups and somehow it had ended with them rutting against each other drunkenly and then promising not to tell anyone ever.

Still, he had enough experience with himself, so he curled his fingers firmly around Gerard and picked up a rhythm. He slipped his finger across the head, then the ridge underneath and then down the length of his cock. Gerard's breathing sped up, and he made little noises in the back of his throat which went straight to Frank's dick (He was probably the hardest he'd been in his whole life. He didn't want to think about how quickly he'd come if he touched himself.) 

Without meaning to, he arched his hips and pressed them against Gerard's back and the curve of his ass. Gerard pressed back and tipped his head against Frank's shoulder and Frank fitted his mouth against Gerard's neck and kissed him. He was focused on the miniscule shifts in Gerard's breathing when he varied the stroke and grip. It was like the most fun science experiment he'd ever done. He could feel every muscle in Gerard’s backs and legs move as he rocked into his hand.

Gerard made a soft, keening noise when he came which sounded completely unintentional and somehow very hot and made Frank chuckle slightly, muffled by his mouth pressed against Gerard's neck still. 

For a moment, they laid there. Frank’s mind was racing a million miles a minute, and his dick was aching, and Gerard was completely silent. Then, without warning, Gerard lurched up, flipped Frank onto his back, and settled himself on Frank’s thighs. He was still only wearing the sweatpants and his skin looking even more inviting bathed now in the barely-three moonlight filtering through the curtains.

“Stay still,” Gerard said, when Frank tried to sit up so they could kiss again. Frank settled back down, narrowing his eyes.

“Dictactor,” Frank mumbled, but it was barely a protest. 

Gerard grinned at him, bright and open, and then he was sliding down Frank’s legs and somehow unbuckling Frank’s jeans at the same time. A moment later, he was tugging them impatiently until Frank lifted his hips.

When Gerard took him in his mouth, Frank barely expected it, even though it was pretty obvious what he was going for. Without meaning too, his hips jerked upwards. Gerard made a noise of protest in the back of his throat which sent vibrations through his dick. 

“Sorry,” Frank breathed, but Gerard had obviously done this before – with who, the jealous monster inside him demanded – because he handled the thrust easily without pulling back. A moment later, when Frank’s hips stuttered again, Gerard pinned Frank in place with a hand on his traitorous hips. Gerard hummed something which sounded suspiciously like the Smashing Pumpkins for a moment and Frank choked out a laugh, knowing then and there that he’d had no chance.

Gerard’s lashes did look obscene when he fluttered them against his cheeks, Frank noted dumbly – maybe not half as obscene as his hollowed cheeks, but close. He’d imagined this happening before – of course he had, Gerard had molested the microphones on stage enough times – but nothing came close to the perfect heat of his mouth.

Frank felt his orgasm rear up stupidly soon – he felt like his skin was a size too small, and his toes were curled up so tight he had cramps, and he bit down on his lip hard enough to make himself flinch. A moment before the inevitable, he slipped a hand down to Gerard’s jaw and tried to push him away in warning, but Gerard slapped his hand back and swallowed his orgasm without flinching.

Frank sank back into the pillows, suddenly exhausted and terrified, and he felt Gerard shift away from him for a moment before his hands were tugging at his still present t-shirt, pushing it up. He shifted enough so he could pull it over his head, slightly confused until he realised Gerard had shed the worn sweatpants and now they were both completely naked.

Gerard tugged the covers out from under him, then pulled them up over the both of them. He breathed something Frank didn’t catch into the skin just beneath Frank’s ear. There was a dip under the skin and when he pressed his tongue against it, Frank’s breath stuttered. When he trailed his mouth down further and sucked the skin of the tattooed scorpion, Frank almost forgot how to breathe entirely.

“Fall forward with me,” Gerard whispered, almost dream-like, and he fitted himself against Frank’s side, nosing under Frank’s jaw. They were pressed chest to chest, and Gerard had tangled their legs together, and it felt perfect.

“I’ve been doing that for a long time,” Frank said, because he didn’t know what else to say. Then he shifted slightly, and Gerard made a low noise of disagreement in his face and pressed an arm across his stomach, pinning him back in place. Frank decided that they’d work this out in the morning. For now, he was content to lay there and sleep.

The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was Gerard mumbling something about dreams, and then, barely audible, “Always.” 

Frank drew him closer and pressed a kiss into Gerard’s tangled hair.


	2. I'm On Your Side

He woke up the next morning a little while before rollout and the banging on the door by Brian to get their asses moving. The sunlight was streaming, cold and white, through the half-open curtains. It took him a moment to realise Gerard still lying half on top of him, but he'd managed to kick the covers off in the night so Frank's uncovered foot was freezing, and they were still sticky and naked which -

Frank's brain went from sleepy happy to completely awake in five seconds flat. He thought back over the nights events and ignored the twinge of arousal in his stomach.

Gerard was waking up then, yawning and stretching and perhaps pressing his hips into Frank's totally innocently but it didn't help matters.

“You planned this," Frank said, when Gerard's eyes opened and half-focused on his own.

"Good morning to you too," Gerard said instead, blinking a few times. Then, he half shrugged and said, "Of course I did. I tried other things. You were oblivious."

Frank felt his heart stutter slightly in his chest. "How long?" 

Gerard considered him carefully for a moment. 

"As soon as we first met," he said finally. "When you didn't reciprocate I assumed you weren't interested. And then I was too busy destroying myself and things got out of hand and then we were best friends and I was too scared."

Frank thought of the early days, when he'd mostly been too drunk to make any rational decisions, and he remembered Gerard with his intensity and his spiky, badly-dyed red hair and his tiny, toothy smiles. His head ached slightly at the idea he'd been so oblivious and that he'd missed so much.

Frank rubbed his fingers over Gerard's jaw and then kissed the corner of his mouth, which was set in a worried line. "What changed?"

“I’m happy now,” Gerard said. "Are you complaining?"

"No," Frank hurried to say.

"Good." There was a small pause, and then Gerard's mouth spread into a smile which showed off his teeth, his expression open and warm. 

Frank found himself grinning happily back, unable to put the feelings into words but somehow knowing that it wasn't necessary.

"I think we have a few minutes until anyone will bother us," Gerard said lightly as his hands skated down over Frank's bare chest and curved the skin of his hips.

**

Frank could have stayed in bed all day if he’d had the choice, but of course that was asking a little too much on tour.

Barely past 9 and there was the inevitable pounding on the door, the terse, “Get the fuck up, twenty minutes to pack up”, and the sound of footsteps hurrying to the next door to yell at whichever unfortunate souls were inside.

Gerard’s eyes were closed but Frank knew he was only pretending to be asleep, because his mouth twitched slighty when Frank made a pitiful groan in response.

“Up and at ‘em, princess,” Frank mumbled, pushing his side gently.

There was a grunt and then, “Who spends two hours in the shower? You’re the princess.”

Frank grinned at him for a moment, then rolled himself away into a sitting position on the side of the bed and stretched his arms towards the ceiling until his joints cracked in that satisfying way. He stood up and padded into the bathroom, still rolling his shoulders to get rid of that sleepy tension. 

The shower did look rather alluring, all things considered. And he did have at least twenty minutes before somebody came back to yell at him for not being ready.

He turned on the shower and ducked under the delightfully hot spray.

A few moments later, and the bathroom door opened and then Gerard was sliding into the tiny shower next to him, which meant he had to press up against the wall.

He turned and slid his arms around Gerard and grinned at him. “It’s a miracle! You’re no longer allergic to water!”

“Shut up,” Gerard said, laughing, as he threw a bar of soap at Frank’s head.

**

If anyone noticed that they were being overly touchy that morning when they all met in the lobby, nobody said anything. 

To be fair, Ray was nursing what looked like a nasty hangover, his forehead wrinkled, his mouth pursed as if he’d been sucking on lemons, and oversized sunglasses firmly in place even though they were still inside. Bob barely looked better, but then Bob wasn’t a morning person, so he always looked that grumpy.

Brian was ticking people off a list like a schoolteacher and looking tiny and stressed as normal. 

The only person who didn’t look as if they’d rather be anywhere but there was Mikey, but he was chatting quietly on the phone with his back turned to the others.

Gerard had decided that Frank made a great pillow whilst they waited, his head bowed and pressed against Frank’s chest. Frank dutifully ran his fingers through Gerard’s still slightly damp hair and scratched his base of his neck. There was a scar there where he'd once cut his head open when he was drunk, and when Frank circled his fingers around it, Gerard shivered and pressed closer.

When Brian was satisfied they were all there – crew included, because even Brian could probably count to five – he herded them outside into the too bright sunlight and the waiting buses. 

Inside, Frank settled himself on the lone sofa, and then Gerard curled up next to him, and pushed Frank until he left him worm under his arms and against his chest, where he promptly fell asleep as if walking the ten steps from the hotel to the bus had exhausted him.

Mikey came over a few minutes later, coffee in hand, and said, “Frank.”

When Frank looked up, confused, there was a small twitch at the corner of Mikey’s mouth which apparently passed for his version of a smile. 

“Hurt him and I’ll hurt you,” Mikey said softly.

“I – of course – ” 

But Mikey had already turned and wandered towards the back.

**

Frank thought back to their first tour, where everything was intense and felt so keenly. Their love for each other, for the fans, was endless, their anxiety crippling, and their sadness and homesickness overwhelming. Yet somehow, the memories brought him nothing but happiness, even as he remembered the days after shows when they'd huddle, cold and miserable, together in the back of the van, sharing body heat because they couldn't afford to turn on the heater (if it even worked.)

With time, and experience, Frank's feelings and ability to cope with life on the road had matured alongside himself. No longer was he bouncing from one extreme to the other - it was if the dial on his emotions had been turned down, and he began to savour the peaceful moments and learned to appreciate the small things.

There had been a time when he couldn't fathom the idea of living past twenty-four. Now, he could see himself grey-haired and wrinkled, his tattoos a colourful blur, and his brothers in arms at his side.

When he looked at Gerard that night on stage, bounding from one side of the stage to the other, his manic pixie grin in place, screaming the lyrics he'd first heard whispered in his ear late at night, those feelings reared back with a vengeance. 

This time, however, it was nothing but pure, searing joy.

He slipped up behind Gerard, pressed his sweaty face into his sweaty neck, and bit his shoulder sharp enough that the words Gerard were singing stuttered in his throat. 

Gerard leant his head against his shoulder, and their eyes met, and Frank grinned at him, darted forward to kiss the ‘FOREVER’ written on his throat, and then he bounded off to annoy Ray some more.

**

The life of a touring rock band was hard. Most people Frank knew would anaesthetise themselves into compliance or pound themselves into exhaustion, throwing themselves around the stage like ragdolls.

Now, he still threw himself against the floor, the others, the walls and anything else he could find like he had a deathwish, but when he’d limp off stage, and hand off his guitar, they’d all fall into a group hug, sweaty and blissed-out.

Those nights were his favourite.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
